You Should Get Back to Class
by Yombatable
Summary: The boys are English teachers who fall in like with each other bc they're losers.


**Where have I been huh? the answer is boring so I'm not even gonna bother. Just imagine I was on an adventure in the amazon rainforest or something.**

 **Anyway, this is my lame way of attempting to getting back into writing my boys again.**

 **Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

"The library is out of copies of fucking Catcher in the Rye! I don't know how they expect me to teach it without giving it to the kids."

"Just get them to read something else."

"Ludwig will get up my arse again."

Arthur looked up from a set of quizzes he'd been slowly losing his mind over to look at the Scottish English teacher (A strange thing to say, Arthur had always thought, since those two words are rarely invited to go together) who had just entered his room.

"Since when have you cared about that?"

"I don't, but I probably should."

Arthur shrugged at that, "Well, I can't say I disagree with you. It's _my_ department you reflect badly on, after all."

Alistair huffed out a noise of irritation, picking up a chair from one of the desks and placing it in front of Arthur's, sitting down and leaning heavily on top of it. "So how are the kids doing so far."

"Below average. It's the first quiz of the term though, so with any luck this will scare them into actually _reading_ the next chapter."

"Need some help? I'm done with all my marking."

"That's because you hardly give out any assignments," Arthur grumbled, shaking his head, "But, no, I'm almost done." He looked up with a raised eyebrow, "Why are you here? You usually bother Dylan or the language department."

"Is a guy not allowed to mix it up?" Alistair asked, grinning up at him.

Arthur felt himself smile a little despite himself, "No, I suppose so. Well, since you don't intend to leave, here, finish these off while I get their next assignment ready."

He dumped the remaining quizzes in front of his co-worker, reaching for his laptop. Alistair found himself laughing and they chatted cheerfully over Arthur's laptop screen until Arthur glanced up at the clock and noticed the time.

"Lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class."

Alistair pouted but stood with a laugh, "If you just wanted slave labour then you should have said."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "You offered. Now _go_ , or I shall have to report you for being an irresponsible educator."

"Fine then, I'll just go and teach Catcher in the Rye without the book then."

"Go!"

And neither of them would admit it, but they were both grinning like idiots when Alistair finally left the room.

* * *

"You're even more hungover than I thought. Are you doing okay?" Alistair asked through a laugh.

Arthur picked his head up from his desk, swatting at a piece of paper that remained stuck to his cheek, "I drank _way_ too much. I hardly even remember what I did."

Alistair snorted at him, slipping off the desk he'd been perched on and wandering over to stand beside Arthur's desk instead. "At least when _I_ go out drinking on a Sunday night I have the foresight not to get myself wasted. It's _unprofessional_ , you know."

Arthur scowled at him. "I've been stressed lately."

"So I saw."

There was a moment of silence.

"So what _did_ I do, just out of curiosity?"

"Before or after you left with the woman?"

"Well, I can fairly accurately assume what happened afterwards."

"After I spotted you, you spent most of your time dancing with that woman, and then you spotted me, and you both came over and I learned that you have about five thousand piercings and tattoos..."

Arthur stuck out his tongue, revealing the silver ball he obviously hadn't bothered to remove.

"Yeah, like that. I never took you for the type."

Arthur winced at the laugh he let out at that, "Oh, as a teenager I was awful. Green hair, black nails, piercings in every place possible, _several_ regrettable tattoos…"

"How does a punk brat turn into a stuffy English teacher? I'm genuinely curious."

"When one is only good at writing poetry, but is not good enough to be a poet, there is really only one path to take."

Alistair grinned, "You wrote angsty teenage poetry?"

"Tons. I'm sure if I re-read it now it would have to kill myself. Most of it was about one girl, too."

"Oh, so it was angsty, teenage, _love_ poetry. I will have to read that at some point."

Arthur shook his head, "Oh no you won't." Glancing up at the clock, Arthur sighed a breath of victory, "Lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class."

That made Alistair roll his eyes, but head for the door regardless, " _One day_ Kirkland!"

"In your dreams MacDonald!"

Arthur felt himself blush, and he wasn't quite sure if it was over the memory of his old poems or the way Alistair's trousers clung to his backside.

* * *

"Just out of curiosity, why haven't you rubbed that out yet?"

Alistair gestured toward the swirling cursive which ran across the left side of Arthur's white board. Anyone who saw it would know exactly who it belonged to, but only those who knew French would know what it said. And Alistair knew for a fact that Arthur knew French.

"I thought it rather amusing." Arthur said, glancing at it over his tea.

"Are you not worried about one of the kids working out what it says?"

"How many students in this school do you _really_ think are fluent enough in French to figure that out?"

"Both of us are."

"Yes, but that's a mere unfortunate consequence of being around Francis for too many years." Arthur shrugged, taking another sip of tea, "It won't matter unless the Headmaster comes in here anyway, and even if he does then I can just feign ignorance."

"Francis will probably figure out a way to frame Gil though."

"I don't particularly care _which_ of the language department get into shit," Arthur said, with the wicked kind of grin that Alistair had grown rather fond of, "I just _one_ of them to get into shit."

"Your feud with the language department is-"

"Yes, yes, _childish and immature_ , I've been informed."

"Nah, I was gonna say it was funny."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but Alistair couldn't help but notice the slight upward curve of his lips.

There was silence for a moment, and then Alistair grinned, looking sideways at his colleague with an air of mischief.

"You wanna get them back?"

After a moment of silent deliberation, Arthur grinned back, "What do you suggest?"

Twenty minutes later and they were fleeing the French classroom having sabotaged several of Francis' PowerPoints, giggling like the schoolchildren that watched them go with curious expressions.

In the hallway between their two classrooms they stopped, leaning on each other and guffawing loudly.

"He's going to throw a bloody fit!"

"Oh my god, he's going- Haha! Fuck, with the frog…"

"And the moustache!"

" _Hahahaha!_ "

It wasn't until their laughter died down that they noticed how close they'd been standing, practically hugging.

They pushed away from each other with matching blushes.

"Lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class." Said Arthur, taking a step back toward his own.

"Yeah, you too." Alistair replied, and the two of them quickly disappeared inside their own rooms.

Their doors shut at the same time, and both of them had to hide their blushes with their faces in their hands.

* * *

"It's not even that well written!"

"How _dare_ you imply-"

"If you can imply that his complete disregard of Scottish history is okay, then I can imply that it's one of his lesser works!"

"You are biased by your inability to recognize when creative licence in acceptable!"

"It's not creative licence when _none_ of it is historically accurate!"

"It wasn't supposed to be!"

"I don't give a shit!"

Arthur growled irritably, turning away from the notes he was copying onto the whiteboard for his next class at his fellow English teacher who was currently sitting at his desk with his feet propped up on a pile of essays which Arthur had long since given up trying to mark today.

There was only so many times you could read the same excerpt from sparknotes.

"Well, it doesn't matter if you give a shit, because it's part of the curriculum."

Alistair grunted, "At least it's short, I'll give it that."

"You can half-arse the unit if you want, but you have to teach it."

"I fucking hate Macbeth," he sighed long-sufferingly, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling, "It doesn't help that the kids can't take me seriously at all while I'm teaching it either."

"Oh, how hard that must be." Arthur deadpanned, returning to the notes on the board.

"You set yourself up to be mocked by taking yourself too seriously."

"Who out of us has the higher test scores?" Arthur snapped, not looking away from the board, a deep frown formed on his face.

"Yeah, but I'd sacrifice a few points in my average for a group of kids who actually _like_ learning the subject."

Arthur turned away from the board abruptly, putting the papers he was holding down on a nearby desk, "I'm done with this discussion. If you want me I'll be in the staff room."

Before he could make it out of the room, however, Alistair kicked his feet off the desk and stood to stop him leaving. "Hey, I didn't-"

Arthur scowled up at him, "Mean it, yeah, okay, I get it, you never do."

"Arthur…"

"No! Really, it's fine! I'm a shit teacher and all of my student's hate me! That's what you said, but it doesn't matter because you didn't mean it!"

"That's not what I said!"

"But it's what you wanted to say!"

"What's with you today? You're so touchy."

Arthur scowled deeper, turning away from him. "Oh yes! Because telling a guy he's touchy is the best way to defuse the situation!"

"Artie! I'm serious. What's wrong?" Alistair's voice had gone soft now, tinged with curious worry.

Arthur seemed to curl in on himself at that. "Nothing, Alistair. I'm just…"

Alistair took a step toward him, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't-"

"I know you didn't mean that. You were teasing. I took it the wrong way."

Alistair found himself brushing Arthur's hair out of his eyes. Those same eyes flicked up to look at him, something small and indecipherable in them.

"Lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class." Arthur said quietly.

Alistair just nodded, dragging himself away.

Although both of them couldn't help but wish he'd stubbornly stayed.

* * *

"You're cute when you're concentrating."

"Fuck off Alistair."

Alistair snorted, leaning sideways to get a better look at Arthur's frown as he copied down notes onto the whiteboard for the next class.

"Don't you have your own work to do?" Arthur huffed, turning to him. All the while both of them did their best to ignore how close the situation got them.

Alistair shrugged, "Aye, I do. But I spent the whole morning doing work, and so did you, so let's take a break and go and get some tea."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "You want to go for tea?"

Alistair shrugged again, "Tea, coffee, I don't really care what we do, I'm just sick of the lighting in this shithole."

Arthur sighed, glancing back at his notes, "Well, I suppose I can do this while th-"

"Great, let's go!" Alistair grabbed him, dragging him from the room before Arthur even had the room to complain.

Twenty minutes later they arrived back at Arthur's classroom, nearly-empty cups of over-priced tea in their hands, as Alistair chuckled at something Arthur had said in regards to the French part of the language department.

They stopped, eyeing each other for a moment, "See, Artie, don't you think it did you good to get out of there?"

Arthur hummed in amusement, "Only possibly. I'm an English teacher, it won't do well for my reputation for people to think I leave that room and socialize. Years of work that has taken, and you've possibly ruined it all."

Alistair grinned, "Ah, what's a reputation anyway, these kids will be gone in a few years."

"Well, I certainly can't argue with that logic." Arthur shook his head, glancing up at the clock and finding himself somehow disappointed with the time. "Well, lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class."

Alistair copied the movement, seeming to deflate, "Ah shit, you're right, I'll see you after school though, about those books?"

"Of course."

Arthur hid a grin behind the plastic lid of his disposable cup as Alistair disappeared, but he didn't mind. It was nice to smile.

* * *

"Arthur?"

Arthur looked up from the book he'd been reading to spy Alistair standing above him.

"Yes?"

He looked nervous, not like the usual cocky bravado he gave off, and Arthur found himself caught between worry and endearment.

"So I was talking to Francis-"

"Eugh, about _what_?"

"Will you let me finish?"

"Okay fine, go on."

Alistair sucked in a deep breath before speaking again, "I was talking to Francis, and Siobhan, and Alfred, and… Well, the point is a lot of people have pointed out to me that, um…"

Arthur rolled his eyes, standing up so he and Alistair were on a slightly more even plain, "For an English teacher, you seem to have an innate ability to fuck the delivery of the language up," he teased lightly, "Come on, whatever it is you want to tell me it can't be _that_ bad."

Alistair's face had developed a soft pink blush on the high points of his cheeks, leading up to the tips of his ears. Sweet really.

Alistair seemed to consider that for a moment, "It's not, problem is, is that I'm not sure I want to know your answer."

"My answer?"

"Apparently the answer is obvious, but I don't think so."

"Well, ask me and we'll find out."

"It's not that _easy_ Arthur."

"Perhaps not, but you're a smart lad, I'm sure you can find the wor-"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Kirkland!" Alistair growled, and before Arthur had a chance to react either way to that statement, he was being pressed into the hard ridge of the whiteboard, with a rough pair of lips pressed to his own.

The only sensible reaction he could come to was to wrap his arms around Alistair's neck and kiss him back.

Any other seemed incredibly ill-fitting.

Oh, they could be fired for this, he didn't even think the door was locked, a student could walk in at any moment, or they could see through the window in the door, or… Well, it didn't matter, because somehow he didn't quite care.

Kissing Alistair was something he'd never known he'd needed until it had happened, and now that it was, that Alistair's heavy scent was in his nose, his thick taste on his tongue, his soft hair between his fingers, that every single part of them was pressed together, he felt that he might never be able to go a single moment of his life without.

It was the kind of sensation that made him want pick his pen back up and write sappy love poetry.

Arthur grinned through their mouths, pulling away just long enough to laugh, "I wish I could say this is the first time I've snogged someone in a English classroom."

Alasdair laughed back, leaning back in to steal a short kiss before replying, "It was always the Drama room for me, there was a sofa."

Arthur hummed, "You're right, that's a lot more comfortable," He pushed himself away from the whiteboard and the hard piece of metal prodding his back to instead lean them against the front row of desks. "But this will do for now."

And then they were kissing again and it was _marvellous_.

After what seemed like a small eternity Alistair pulled away, "Do you want to go on a date later?"

Arthur found himself grinning despite himself, his eyes flicking over Alistair's face lazily, "I think we can work something out." Despite himself he leant up on his toes, curling his arms tight around Alistair's neck like one of the schoolgirls he taught, grinning into Alistair's mouth, "I do think I need to test the product a little more before I commit to it, however."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, "And how long might this supposed test-drive take?"

Arthur glanced up at the clock, "Oh, about another ten minutes."

"That can be arranged."

And then Alistair was kissing him again, and he found himself curling even tighter into his body, his mouth curving up into the kind of smile he hadn't remembered having in a long while.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the classroom door, making the two English teachers break apart rather suddenly and turn, wide-eyed, to the doorway.

"Lunch is almost over. You should get back to your class." Said Siobhan, a light smile on her face as she took in her two debauched-looking co-workers, "But I'd suggest straightening out first. Your kids are gonna suspect something."

"Right," Arthur breathed, turning to Alistair and somehow feeling more bashful now with a spectator, "I'll meet you after classes then?"

Alistair nodded, a beautifully endearing grin pulling at his features, "Sure. I'll see you then."

Arthur nodded back, and neither of them were really sure who stepped in for one last kiss before they parted ways, but it was slow and bashful, and neither of them wanted it to end after the few seconds it lasted.

As Arthur watched Alistair leave, he missed the small smile Siobhan sent him, but he didn't miss the one Alistair did. It made him want to run after him, ditch his class, and spend the next two hours staring like a love-sick fool into his eyes.

Arthur's class didn't get homework that day, and when they asked what happened, he simply said that he'd recently rediscovered his passion for poetry, and nothing more. The kids didn't need to know. They'd simply have to endure a honeymoon phase for a while, and surely that wasn't so bad.

He smiled to himself, no, not so bad at all.

* * *

BONUSSS:

"Haha! Fuck you Francis, I fucking called it!" Siobhan laughed, slamming her palm down on the French teacher's desk.

"Called what, my dear?"

"That they'd be making out like teenagers before lunch was over!"

"No! You're kidding!" Francis stood, leaning forward with an expression of disbelief.

"What did I tell you! It takes an English teacher to know an English teacher! Now hand over the cash!"

Francis shook his head, "I demand-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, there was a phone thrust into his face, a picture of the very scene she'd just described on the screen. Francis swore under his breath, reaching into his pocket before handing Siobhan twenty pounds.

"This is the last time I lose a bet like this."

"Keep on dreaming sunshine."

And with that Siobhan left to buy herself a treat with her winnings. She deserved it after all, since her fellow English teachers were both getting treats of their own.


End file.
